


Tinkerty tonks

by okapi



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Community: 100words, Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-07-10 18:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 9,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15955118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Jeeves & Wooster drabble collection. All chapter stand alone. Check chapter summaries for ratings and warnings. Slash and non-slash.48.Love or Lust. Bertie gets pummeled for helping another valet. Jeeves/Wooster. Rating: Teen.





	1. Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves' singular despair.

Though stoicism is the cornerstone of my profession, my reserve does not render me immune to negative feelings. I have known war. I have known disappointments, untimely loss, and harsh economy. I have known illness. I have suffered slights and sorrows, if you will, the slings as well as the arrows of fortune. However, since I began my post as valet to Mister Bertram Wooster, I have come to recognise a novel despair, singular and heretofore unknown to me. It seizes me when my employer announces he is off to the cinema to view a film featuring Mister David Niven.


	2. Pride (Rating: Teen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheeky Jeeves. 
> 
> Rating: Teen for sexual innuendo

“…No, I shall have to issue them a firm _nolle prosequi_.”  
  
“Highly advisable, sir.”  
  
“I mean, what would the fighting ancestors say? After all, they were ‘fighting’ ancestors, not ‘walk-all-over-us-mugs-and-clean-our-wallets-out-while-you’re-at-it’ ancestors.”  
  
“Precisely, sir.”   
  
“I’m as sensitive a plant as Shelley ever forgot to water every other day, but no! The Pride of the Woosters shall never be swallowed!”   
  
There was what I believe is called a pregnant silence, then a cough like a sheep clearing its throat.  
  
“Jeeves?”  
  
“I was thinking of my cousin, sir, the, uh, Circus swallower.”   
  
“Circus, eh?”  
  
“Yes, ‘round Piccadilly.”  
  
And with that, he oozed off.


	3. Bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie muses on bravery.

Brave isn’t always brave. Magazines call certain fashion choices ‘brave’ that Jeeves calls ‘ill-advisable-unless-one-is-pursuing-a-career-in-children’s-entertainment.’ If critics call a play ‘brave,’ then I give it a miss unless I’m two hours short of my requisite number of the dreamless.   
  
Real bravery comes from within and without. For Bertram, the within is the Wooster Code: always come through for a pal (and aged relative), never bandy a woman’s name, and resist all attempts at moulding. The without is, of course, a gentleman’s gentleman who wears a size-10 bowler and swings a dashed efficient cosh (or blackjack, if you prefer the American term).


	4. Shakespeare IV.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie muses on love and spats.
> 
> The prompt was: "Love is not love  
> Which alters when it alteration finds,  
> Or bends with the remover to remove:  
> O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,  
> That looks on tempests and is never shaken."

“Jeeves! One of your specials! What a day! What does the poet-chappie say about alterations and love? My love for Silverthimble is dead!”

“Your tailor, sir?”

“He won’t make any calico spats! Like the toppin’ ones I wore when I played Mungojerrie to Bingo Little’s Rumpelteazer at the Drones’ Old Possum’s Revue.”

“I’m gratifi—that is—I’m sorry, sir.”

“Is love an ever-fixed mark? Like that spot on the sideboard—I say, Jeeves, where is that spot I made with the squid?”

“I applied Cyril’s Cephalopodic Tonic.”

“Blast! What looks on tempests and is never shaken, Jeeves?”

“Your drink, sir.”


	5. Frenzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie arrives home disheveled.

“Jeeves!”  
  
When I appeared, it was two minds with but a single thought, the thought being costume change for Bertram.  
  
“How, if I may ask, sir…?”  
  
“Got caught in one of those blasted revolving doors!”  
  
Jeeves went stuffed-frog. “Are you injured, sir?”  
  
“No, just the wardrobe. Wouldn’t have been so bad, but there was a bevy of mothers and daughters on one side of the torture wheel and a Mothers and Daughters’ tea on the other!”  
  
“Very distressing, sir.”  
  
“Reminds me of when I threw a chicken leg in the piranha tank at the aquarium. The frenzy, Jeeves! _Quelle horror_!”


	6. Over the Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie meets a mysterious stranger. 
> 
> A double drabble for the DW Drabble Zone challenge 106 - Over the Hill. Inspired by [this photo](http://sanspatronymic.tumblr.com/post/177536173205).

“I say,” I said at Denniston the next morning whilst he was stabbing his morning kipper like a good ‘un. “What’s over the hill?”

“Over the hill?” squawked Denniston like the dyspeptic crow he’d always been.

“Last night, while I was having a postprandial stroll, I got caught up in the misty fruitiness of the season, as Jeeves and, I believe, Keats like to call it, and ended up on the edge of your kingdom. You know, that bit of the garden with the cheerful nymphs and the sad cypress and the crumbling stone-work. Well, to make a short story even shorter, I spotted a cove standing on the wall and, noticing he wasn’t among the guests here, I asked him where he was from. He said, ‘over the hill.’ I only ask because I’d like to pay him a call, don’t you know, and ask him who his tobacconist is.”

“His tobacconist?!”

“He was smoking Harper’s. You can’t find them anywhere in London. The factory burned down two years ago.”

“The only thing over the hill, my dear Bertie, is the cemetery.”

I gave the hardboiled egg and ham a miss and had a pensive sip of Ceylon’s best.


	7. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie's quote gets an unexpected reaction.
> 
> For DW 100words prompt (112) - Panic. References to "The Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allan Poe, _Rebecca_ by Daphne du Maurier, and _The Metamorphosis_ by Franz Kafka.

I’d taken to greeting Jeeves in the a.m. with a corkin’ first line from the lot my book-monger had sent.

‘ _The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge_ ’ won me a nod and ‘ _Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again_ ’ a half-smile, but ‘ _as Bertram Wooster awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect_ ’ resulted in a look of abject panic.

“May I never be forced to choose between feudal loyalty and household hygiene, sir.”


	8. Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things can't be mended. Warning for internalized homophobia & pining!Jeeves, angst.
> 
> Double drabble for the DW Drabble Zone prompt (#107) torn.

I have a fine sewing hand, or so Aunt Hexobah, the most exacting of instructresses, has always said. I can darn. I can hem. I can, upon request, make certain alterations to a Sinbad the Sailor costume, which render the wearer significantly more dashing, in his own estimation. I mend my own wardrobe as well as that of my employer unless, of course, circumstances call for significant repairs or a tailor’s specialised knowledge and needlework.

Some things are beyond patching, however. Mister Wooster’s trousers the morning after Boat Race Night have twice fallen into this category. On one occasion, a white mess jacket of Mister Wooster’s which had met with an unfortunate ironing accident also had to be discarded whole cloth.

But that which I could not bear to see cast off would be the high regard and almost child-like trust that Mister Wooster bestows upon me, and such would certainly be the consequence if he ever learned of the depth and the nature of my feelings for him.

Mister Wilde, though hopelessly misguided in his choice of coats, was correct when he called it ‘the love that dare not speak its name.’

Thus, I keep silent, and remain, torn.


	9. Shakespeare V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moulding by any other name. Angst.
> 
> For the DW 100 words prompt: 
> 
> _Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing._   
>  _Good night, good night!_   
>  _Parting is such sweet sorrow._

“Well, Jeeves, another betrothal circum-something-ed, I think Magellan enters into it.”

“Circumvented, sir?”

“Yes, I’m dashed weary of being moulded.”

“Understandable, sir.”

“Is it? You’re the worst of the lot. They try, you succeed.”

“Sir?”

“My clothes, my face, my choice of holiday and musical instrument, all your moulding. Even under my own roof, in my own skin, I don’t belong.”

“Sir—”

“Call the garage. I’m going to club, then I’m just going. Take the weekend off.”

* * *

With a sweet sorrow, I managed to rescue a pair of purple socks from the bin and slip them into Mister Wooster’s holdall.


	10. Nothing to see.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Script of a letter from B. Wooster to R. Jeeves.
> 
> Double drabble for the DW Drabble Zone prompt: Nothing to see. This is also a sneak peak at my Hallowe'en fic [Stained in the blood of the cockerel] for the Spook Me ficathon.

Post Script. As if the day couldn’t get any rummier, not only is the aged relative blackmailing me into playing raconteur at a bally Hallowe’en party as part of her nefarious silver-cockerel-snatching scheme, but I’ve also seen a ghost! Or at least I think I have. I saw him once before when I was visiting my pal Denniston down in Dorset. I just stumbled upon him, the ghost, not Denniston, standing on a garden wall, smoking.

Well, before dinner, I decided to take a stroll in the garden here. And there he was! Standing on the wall, smoking. He was wearing the same clothes as seven years ago and, this is the juicy bit, Jeeves, still smoking Harper’s! And you know very well there isn’t a Harper’s cigarette to be found in the Empire these days!

He and I looked at each other with a wild surmise (silent upon a p. in D.). And then there was nothing to see.

Don’t worry, old thing. Tony’s working out fine. Neither his Nietzsche-quoting nor his resemblance to a Greek statue Bingo and I used to pash at Oxford is interfering with his ability to stud a shirt. But he’s not you. B.


	11. Bringing in the Jeeves (Rating: Explicit. Watersports)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Bringing in the Jeeves  
> Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster  
> Pairings(s): Bertie/Drones, Bertie/Jeeves  
> Rating: Explicit  
> Word count: 300  
> Warnings/Tags: Watersports  
> Challenge: Flash Challenge - Harvest Festival  
> Summary: The Drones First Annual Harvest Festival is an unqualified success.  
> Notes: For 2018 Kinktober Day 2 - Watersports. For DW Story works prompt: Harvest festival

_“Bringing in the Jeeves! Bringing in the Jeeves! We will come rejoicing, bringing in the Jeeves!”_  
  
Contrary to the y.m.’s yodeling, it was the pride of the Woosters, and not his gentleman’s gentleman, who was being hoisted like a bale of hay and carried into the Wooster barn, or rather, bathroom.  
  
“Three cheers for Bertram, Jeeves, for First Annual Drones Harvest Festival was an unqualified success!”  
  
“Congratulations, sir.”  
  
Together, they began removing the gentleman’s outer crust, Jeeves doing most of the heavy lifting while Bertie fumbled with a button or two.  
  
“There was a pumpkin carving contest, a couple of corkin’ ghost stories by the fire, darts, of course, and…”  
  
“Cider tasting, sir?”  
  
“I’ve said it before; I’ll say it again, Jeeves. Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t stand a chance! How did you know?”  
  
Jeeves inclined the bean toward the discarded raiment.  
  
“Ah,” said Bertie. “About the suit…”  
  
“I fear it is not salvageable, sir.”  
  
“Yes, well, the cider was flowing rather freely. In and, uh, out. Someone got the bright idea, might have been me, to, uh, make a sport of extinguishing the floating candles in the bathing pond with our own hoses. And then, well, there was a good deal of frolicking in the ruddy garden with God’s own golden watering cans.”  
  
“Indeed, sir.”  
  
“You oblige fellows, fellows oblige you. And then, well, while the works are out, why not have a frig or a suck or whatnot? And the next thing, you know, I’m tied up like a scarecrow with clothing to match.”  
  
“Distressing, sir?”  
  
“Not really, except at the notion of your being cross about the suit. That’s why I had two kegs of the best cider sent ‘round. What do you say?”  
  
He went stuffed frog, then beguiling serpent.  
  
“I say, _‘Bringing in the Jeeves…’_ ”


	12. Abysmal (Rated Mature for Foot fetish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie waxes philosophic after an unplanned dip in a pond. **Rated Mature for Foot Fetish.** Triple drabble.
> 
> The first 100 words were written for the 100 words prompt (#114): abysmal. The next 200 words were written for Kinktober 2018 - Day 5: Feet.

“What does that brainy chap, you know, the one who isn’t on your Christmas card list, say about abysses, Jeeves?”

“I shouldn’t care to repeat any wisdom attributed to Nietzsche, sir.”

“Well, if you substitute ‘Totleigh Pond’ for abyss, that about sums up my predic. I looked into it, too far, it looked into me, too deep, and—plop!— I went. I say, abysses are hell on the brogues, what?”

“Gentlemen’s footwear is rarely suited to complete submersion in water, sir. Shall I help you remove them?”

“I think you’ll have to. I’ll pull from my end, you from yours. On three.”

* * *

POP!

“Your feet, sir.”

“Yes, the native bearers have seen better days, haven’t they? Viz. days when their bearer didn’t fall off a bridge into a pond!”

“Might I suggest ‘Furdy’s Fantastic Foot Fancy, It Frees the Foulest Flipper’? It provided substantial relief to my former employer Colonel Forward-Harch who, though hardly a gentleman of exacting habit, did have a penchant for wearing his old regimental boots long after they ceased to be commodious.”

“Have you any of this miracle worker, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir. Shall I bring it with your slippers?”

“Toot sweet, Jeeves. These dogs are barking!”

* * *

“Oooh. I say, Jeeves, you’re rather good at this, massaging the flippers, I mean.”

“Thank you, sir. I endeavour to give satisfaction.”

“Ever work at the baths?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, you’ve got something to fall back on if you don’t want to earn the envelope at this old stand. Oooh. Speaking of old stands, Jeeves?”

“Sir?”

“Mine’s stiff as a starched collar.”

“I confess I find myself in a similar condition, sir.”

“That Foot Fancy good for other appendages?”

“It is a preparation with a variety of applications, sir.”

“Good. Ugh. You frig mine, I’ll frig yours?”

“Very good, sir.”


	13. Autumn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie gets ready for the Drones' Autumn Fancy Dress Call. 
> 
> For DW Drabble Zone prompt: Autumn/Fall and Kinktober 2018 Day: 6 Corset.

“Don’t suppose this is mentioned in the Gentleman’s Gentleman’s Guide to Gentlemanning, Jeeves?”

“It’s not so irregular, sir, or unprecedented. If you recall, I once made alterations to your Sinbad the Sailor costume. Hold tight to the bedstead, please, and sharp inhale, if you will.”

“Ooof! True. And here we are in the season of misty, mellow fruitiness and, like Cinders, I’m off to the Drones’ Autumn Fancy Dress Ball. That’s dashed tight, Jeeves!”

“The nature of the beast I’m afraid, sir. Now for the dress. Excellent.”

“And the pièce de résistance, Jeeves?”

“Your lamb, sir.”

“He’s sure to go!”


	14. Bashful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves gets business advice from an unlikely source. For Kinktober Day 9 - Lingerie.

Inspiration and education may be found unlikely places, for example, those occupied by gentlemen who wear knee britches and spout fascist slogans. Lord Sidcup (née Sir Roderick Spode) though ill-advised in political ideology and crassly narrow-minded in personal outlook, has a sound mind for business. His success with Eulalie Souer, a line of fine ladies’ undergarments, pointed me in the direction of my own success. Eulalie Sir, my line of fine lingerie for gentlemen’s wear, is turning a tidy profit. Two more valuable lessons from Lord Siddcup’s business career: absolute discretion is paramount, and bashful pink is always in style.


	15. Bashful (II). (Rated Explicit for Sounding.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gentlemen are, naturally, reticent, even bashful, in their disclosures. **Rated Explicit for Sounding**
> 
> The pun is that measuring the depth of water/the sea is also called 'sounding.'
> 
> For DW 100 words prompt (#115) - bashful. And for Kinktober 2018 Day 10 - Sounding.

Gentlemen are, naturally, reticent, even bashful, in their disclosures. Only with time and trust does one learn of their indulgences.

In Mister Wooster’s case, it coincided with the arrival of a new wardrobe.

“I’ll take that, Jeeves,” he remarked when I removed a case from the recesses of the old wardrobe.

“Are these instruments for measuring the depth of water, sir?”

His face was blank, then the penny dropped. “Yes! Any experience?”

“Some. In previous posts. I’d be happy to oblige.”

Later, as the rod disappeared inside his prick, he gasped in a manner most gratifying,

“You stand alone, Jeeves!”


	16. In the moonlight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gentlemen have their preferences. So do gentlemen's gentlemen. Fluff. Romantic Jeeves.
> 
> For Drabble Zone Amnesty 11: Challenge/prompt: In the moonlight.

Gentlemen have their preferences. I have, on occasion, overheard my employer expressing admiration for a young lady’s profile, his being a nature quite susceptible to the feminine silhouette. He will, in fact, make allowances for any number of shortcomings if he fancies the ‘side view’ as he calls it.   
  
I, for my part, find no hardship in being asked to locate my employer, say, at a country house whilst he is taking a postprandial stroll about the grounds. Mister Wooster never looks more dashing than when he is bathed in moonlight.   
Gentlemen have their preferences. And so do gentlemen’s gentlemen.


	17. It Could be Worse.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie has an unexpected visitor.
> 
> For the Kinktober 2018 Day 15 - Forniphilia.
> 
> The joke is that a tantalus is a stand in which decanters of liquor can be locked up though still visible. Forniphilia is a form of BDSM where a person is used as household furniture.

It’s always a bad sign when Jeeves greets me at the door with that sheep’s look on his map.   
  
“Mister Phipps is here, sir.”  
  
“Barmy? Capital!”  
  
Jeeves coughed “He is beset by forniphilia, sir.”  
  
“Egad! Should he be in hospital?!”  
  
“He desires to be a table, sir.”   
  
“A table?”  
  
“Yes, sir. A coffee table to be precise. He is inside, in a state of undress, having taken the place of yours.”   
  
“What am I to do? Prop my brogues up on him?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Right ho, I suppose it could be worse.”  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“He could want to be the tantalus.”


	18. Vision. (Rating: Teen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves dares not. Rating: Teen. Continuation of Chapter 16 (In the moonlight). 
> 
> For 100 words prompt #117: vision & for Kinktober 2018 Day 19 - Public - Formal wear - Straightjacket - Cock-warming

I've admitted before my appreciation for my employer’s features when bathed in the moonlight. Whenever I’ve viewed him thusly, he has been, quite naturally, attired in formal wear. I would go so far as to say that in evening dress and beneath proper illumination, Mister Wooster is a vision. Nevertheless, I do not dwell on such, if I may be vulgar, cock-warming thoughts. Indeed, I would be inviting what my employer calls ‘a fitting for the tight waistcoat of Colney Hatch,’ i.e. a straightjacket, to show any untoward sign of affection or admiration for his physical form in public. 


	19. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pining!Jeeves.
> 
> For Kinktober 2018 Day 25 - Boot worship

I take pride in all my work, but the care of Mister Wooster’s footwear ranks foremost. Only when it would cause comment, say at a large country house, do I delegate the responsibility, but not even then if Mister Wooster’s plan include hunting. There is a meditative quality to the cleaning, brushing, and polishing, and, naturally, the pride of a job well done and an employer’s satisfaction, the latter of which Mister Wooster is never parsimonious in expressing. My reason is other, however: as circumstances preclude the worship of the man, I content myself with the worship of the boots.


	20. Exhibitionism/Voyeurism.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie and Jeeves muse. Double Drabble
> 
> For Kinktober 2018 Day 27 - Exhibitionism/Voyeurism.

There is, I believe, a certain amount of exhibitionism inherent in the life of a typical young-man-about-town. I mean to say, you grow up among other lads, playing sports and whatnot, at various and sundry schools, none of which afford much in the way of bodily privacy, and then, upon reaching manhood, if you’ve means at all, you hire yourself a gentleman’s gentleman. And, of course, a chap might be shy or guarded in his own home, but then he would miss out in some of the great joys of life, like the exchange of witty repartee in the bath.

* * *

Some say the best servant, like the best child, is seen but not heard. I would argue that the best servant is not so much seen as seeing. Keen powers of observation are vital to meeting or anticipating an employer’s needs, and if being predisposed to observation makes a good servant, by nature, a voyeur, I offer no protest. I would be a poor valet, indeed, if I took no notice of my employer’s physique. How else could I advise him and guide him with respect to his wardrobe and what styles, colours, and patterns might genuinely flatter his form?


	21. Cold. (Rating: Teen for Cannibalism.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves speculates. Rating: Teen/PG for Cannibal!Jeeves. 
> 
> For Kinktober 2018 Day 28 - Vore. Also for the Drabble Zone challenge (#112): Cold.

With every change of post, after the initial period of settling in is past, I indulge in a bit of speculation about my new employer. It is a peculiar hobby of mine, but it helps to pass the time and keeps my mental faculties sharp whilst at the more monotonous of my responsibilities. After pondering various aspects of the matter for many, many weeks, I have finally decided that Mister Wooster would be best ground into a kind of pâté, spread on small squares of very crisp toast, and washed down with a glass of Imperial Tokay, served very cold.


	22. Massage.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things cannot be learned at a mother's knee.
> 
> For Kinktober Day 29 - Massage.

Some skills a valet cannot learn, as Mister Wooster would say, at his mother’s knee. For six months during my early manhood, I served as an apprentice to a masseur at a Turkish bath. There I acquired more understanding of human anatomy. I also developed the manual dexterity and strength which I’ve since used to bring relief to my more rheumatic of employers. But If ever asked directly about my abilities, especially during a demonstration, such as when I am tending to Mister Wooster after an afternoon of tennis, I am purposefully vague, preferring to preserve the aura of omnipotence.


	23. Tights/Stockings/Pantyhose.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie briefly balks. 
> 
> For Kinktober Day 30: Stockings/Tights/Pantyhose

I looked down, shook the pins and asked, for the hundredth time,

“Are these sausage casings really necessary, Jeeves?”

“Well, sir, I think you will find the costume quite uncomfortable without a layer protecting your lower limbs.”

I sighed

“I am a preux, Jeeves, a preux chevalier.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The spirit of the preux chevalier is rather straightforward, Jeeves. Never give up. Never let a friend down. Never bandy a woman’s name. Simple.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But the wardrobe, Jeeves, is something else. It requires true bravery.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. I am ready. Help me into the armour.”

“Yes, sir.”


	24. Scene of the Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie catches Meadows.
> 
> For DW drabblezone prompt #113: Scene of the Crime.

I caught him, of course, and I’ll admit it was through no braininess of my own, but rather that old adage of detective fiction that the culprit always returns to the scene of the crime.

And in this particular case, the culprit was the soon-to-be-receiver-of-the-mitten Meadows and the scene of the crime was my blasted sock drawer.

“Hallo, hallo, hallo, hallo,” said I. And, if I’d known it at the time, which I didn’t, I might have added, “A-hunting we will go, m’lads, a-hunting we will go, in his hands, my socks, that valet fox, I’ll lay the blighter low.”


	25. Rainy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Rainy Day  
> Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster  
> Characters: Bertie Wooster, Reginald Jeeves  
> Length: 200  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: None  
> Author's Notes: for Challenge #44 of DW [Picture Prompt Fun](https://picture-prompt-fun.dreamwidth.org/) comm, Picture 87:
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://picturepromptfun-mod.dreamwidth.org/file/86843.jpg)  
> 

“You had a pleasant stroll despite the rain, sir?”

“Yes, I did, Jeeves. You know, it’s extraordinary how one incident can change a fellow’s outlook. I mean to say, there I was, all gloom itself because the skies had decided to darken and let loose their mournful tears upon the earth when, lo and behold, I happened upon a cherub in a wee daffodil-coloured oilskin, matching wellies, and rainbow-striped umbrella. Made my heart leap, Jeeves. Made me wish I was one of those artist chappies, you know, the kind who do watercolour scenes for picture postcards or advertisements for oatmeal or some such. Pretty is what I mean to say.”

“An arresting scene, sir, I’m sure.”

“Yes! I felt like singing. Something along the lines of ‘when my little Dolly takes her little brolly out to cheer the clouds’ something, something, and then the other. But more than that, Jeeves, it gave me, well, a rather fatherly feeling to see the tot skipping about in the puddles.”

“Rather fatherly, sir?” His brow furrowed with concern.

“Oh, don’t worry. The sentiment passed. I gave her a bob and went on my way. I’m susceptible but not a fool.”

“Just so, sir.”


	26. Loud (Rating: Mature for dirty talk)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie wakes up with a sort throat and discovers he's been talking in his sleep. Double drabble. Rating: Mature for dirty talk.
> 
> For DW drabble zone challenge #114 - loud

“G’morning, Jeeves.”

He looked at me with an eyebrow raised one-eighth of an inch.

“It’s the pipes, Jeeves. They’re unaccountably rusty, as if I’ve been out larking with the nightingale ‘til dawn. More ‘oo’ in oolong, if you will. It’s dashed uncomfortable.”

“Honey and lemon, sir?”

“Like mother used to make. Not my mother, of course, but someone’s, I’m certain.”

“Might I take a liberty and suggest your condition is a result of the sleep-talking in which you engaged last night, sir.”

“Sleep-talking? Gosh, that’s a new one. And I was loud enough to disturb you in your den?”

“Yes, sir. I observed you speaking with your eyes closed. You did not respond to my inquiries. I hope I did right, sir, by leaving you to your monologue.”

“I can’t fault you there. What did I say?”

Jeeves went all stuffed frog. “I couldn’t say, sir.”

The blighter was lying, of course.

“If it happens again, Jeeves, I demand a full report!”

“If you insist, sir.”

* * *

Jeeves flipped a page.

“There’s more?” I croaked.

“Yes, sir. Where was I? Oh, yes. ‘…bugger me, sod me, ride me you gorgeous, bowler-hat-wearing, horse-hung stallion like Perez the year Scheherazade’s Ex-libris won Epsom…”


	27. The One with the Bridge (Rating: Teen for innuendo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie has a recurring nightmare. Rating: Teen for slight sexual innuendo. 
> 
> For DW picture prompt fun Challenge 45 / Photo 89.
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://picturepromptfun-mod.dreamwidth.org/file/89069.jpg)  
> 

“Jeeves!”

“Sir?”

“Good Gosh, you’re right there?”

“You were sleeping rather fitfully, sir. I thought it prudent to place myself nearby in case you woke and required anything.”

“Well done, good and faithful. I had a nightmare, Jeeves.”

“Most distressing, sir.”

“Have you ever had a nightmare, Jeeves?”

“On very rare occasion, sir.”

“Have you ever had this one: you’re on a rickety bridge high up in the firmament, you know, the kind with the missing planks and the whole mess held together by Methuselah’s bootlaces and despair?”

“Not to my recollection, sir.”

“Well, count yourself among the fortunate, Jeeves, for in this particular scenario on one side of the bridge is angry, revengeful army you’ve just deserted, on the other side, a horde of soul-consuming pestilential beazels who’ve got you on their involuntary conscription list, below you a family reunion of about one hundred or so crocodiles all who haven’t eaten in a year, the United States Marines nowhere in sight, and a strong nor’wester just about to tip the canoe and Wooster, too.”

“Indeed, sir. If I may repeat myself, most distressing, but I think, in the circumstances, not wholly surprising.”

“Really, Jeeves?”

“Well, today is your wedding day, sir, and most young gentlemen are wont to display a bit of anxiety on such a day.”

“Oh, my sainted aunts! Can you believe I forgot? Do you think you can get me out of it, Jeeves?”

“By ‘it’ you are referring to your matrimonial understanding with the young lady, sir?”

“Precisely, Jeeves.”

“Before the ceremony which is scheduled to take place in some twelve hours, sir?”

“Give or take, Reverend Happenstall is usually punctual but he might be late due to an attack of hay fever or sprue or something.”

“I shall give thought to the matter, sir.”

* * *

“Jeeves!”

“Sir?”

“Good Gosh, you’re right there?”

“You were sleeping rather fitfully, sir. I thought it prudent to place myself nearby in case you woke and required anything.”

“Well done, good and faithful. I had a nightmare, Jeeves.”

“Most distressing, sir.”

“The one with the bridge, the army, the beazels, the crocodiles, etcetera. The same one I had that day, you remember, when you catapulted me out of the matrimonial consommé in grand style? Really that was one of your brainiest schemes to-date, Jeeves.”

“Yes, sir, I recall the incident vividly and thank you, sir, I endeavour to give satisfaction. But as to your nightmare, you may be suffering from a conflation of events.”

“A con—what?”

“Your mind is joining ideas and, but in this case, it is causing you unnecessary anxiety. The wedding you are attending in twelve hours is not your own, but that of Mister Little.”

“Oh, I see. My thinking about someone else’s sponge bag trousers and gardenia has put ol’ lemon in a squeeze about my own, even though there’s not a single, blessed, matching-making aunt on the horizon?”

“Precisely, sir.”

“Oh, well then, I’ll go back to sleep. Pip-pip, Jeeves.”

“Sleep well, sir.”

* * *

“Jeeves!”

“Hmm?”

“Come here, my beloved. I’ve had a nightmare.”

“The one with the bridge?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“I observed. You appeared distressed and were attempting to cling to something.”

“Astounding!”

“Elementary, my dear Bertram. But, as to the nightmare, just yesterday you sent the letter expressing your deepest regrets that you could not attend the ceremony along with a handsome fish slice to your cousin and his bride-to-be. Your obligations are fulfilled.”

“Whew! Well, since I’m awake…”

“Yes?”

“…and you’re awake…”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t we play a bit of unmindful bather and the hungry crocodile?”

“Excellent idea.”


	28. Snowboarding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Jeeves invented snowboarding.
> 
> For DW picture prompt fun Challenge 46 Picture prompt 91:
> 
> [](https://picturepromptfun-mod.dreamwidth.org/file/88017.jpg)

“I suppose if one is to be philosophical about it, it is a question of cats and dogs, Jeeves.”

“Indeed, sir? How so?”

“Well, it started with a cat doing its best tightrope dance along the snowy ledge of the balcony where I went to smoke my postprandial cigar. And you know very well that cats love me. And I love cats. All kinds, even royal Alpine teases like that one. It was a pretty puss, Jeeves, big and grey and fluffy. Well, I reached out to give the blessed creature a nice scratch behind the ears. It seemed to be taken with the notion, but then it jumped back. I reached. It jumped. One more of this mano-a-gato paso doble, and I reached so far that I tumbled base over apex and apex over base and so on, right off the balcony. I landed on my feet by the front door precisely on one of those smooth boards, you know, the kind that the lodge chappies put on the ground so that you don’t get your brogues covered in snow and mud when you first arrive. Well, the board and I began to slide down the drive. My balance is quite good when I’m not trying to caress finicky felines. And so there I was, skimming along the snow, in the soup-and-fish, of course, the ol’ Havana, quite naturally, having been lost somewhere along the way. Providence allowed that I missed every single tree, but then I hit a bump and whoosh! Like the chappie with the melted wings! Flying high, crashing low.”

“And it was all on account of a cat, sir?”

“Believe me or believe me not, Jeeves.”

“And the dog?”

“Well, you, of course, my good and faithful, trudging after me through the drifts of white and executing an Alpine rescue worthy of the most stalwart Saint Bernard. Another brandy, Jeeves from the wee keg, and one for you, of course.”

“Thank you, sir. Cheers.”

“Mud in your eye, Jeeves. But after we warm the interiors, it’s time to get me into those snowshoes and begin the return journey to the lodge. It’s getting rather chilly out here, and I shouldn’t want to have to gut you and sleep inside your hollowed carcass all night.”

“That avenue does indeed leave much to be desired, sir, but your mishap gives me an idea for a promising sport…”


	29. Make Up Your Mind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Bertie came to decide upon his winter Alpine holiday.
> 
> For DW Drabble Zone challenge 115 - Make Up Your Mind.

I threw down my pen just as Jeeves wafted into the room.

“Have you not arrived at a decision, sir?”

“I haven’t, Jeeves. I’ve written the columns, for and against. Look here. ‘Wooster Winter Holiday in the Alps.’ One, snow on trees is pretty.”

“Very true, sir.”

“But,” I raised a pointer, “snow is also bally cold.”

Jeeves gave a nod of the onion. “Also true, sir.”

“Skiing is jolly fun. Falling into snowdrifts, not fun. Then there’s the hot toddies.”

“Which, I see, appear in both columns.”

“Depending on the quantity you’ve imbibed.”

“Ah, yes, sir.”

“Then there’s getting caught in a blizzard with a homicidal murderer on the loose…”

“Excuse me, sir, that is the telephone."

* * *

“That was Mrs. Spenser-Gregson, sir.”

“Aunt Agatha?! What did she want?!”

“She informed me that she was coming ‘round for tea, accompanied by a young lady to whom she greatly desired to introduce you.”

“Lord love a duck, Jeeves! You know what that means?”

“I am afraid so, sir.”

“Jeeves, it’s the time for all good snowshoes to come to aid of the Berties! How soon can you have ours packed?”

“They are already packed, sir, and here is your fur-lined Inverness.”

 


	30. Cosy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a ice-skating mishap, Jeeves & Bertie cuddle.
> 
> For DW fffc prompt #18.22: Cosy.

“I’m much obliged, Jeeves.”

“I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir. But if I may take a liberty and ask a question about the incident, did you not see a sign?”

“Of course, I saw a sign! I was _en route_ to wee skate pond, perched on the lemon the ol’ Alpine lid and bladed boots thrown over the shoulder in rakish fashion, when I spied a curious path and, being a curious Bertram, I set about a solo exploratory expedition faster than you can say ‘Major Plank.’ And there was a lake! What a surface, Jeeves! Just like glass! And not a soul on it! And a beautiful scene in the distance. Snow-capped mountains, rolling white hills, stately pines. It was a sign, Jeeves, a sign that I should perfect my double axle on that ice, before all that winter majesty.”

“With all due respect, sir, I mean, the sign that read ‘Danger. Thin Ice.’”

“Oh, no. I must’ve breezed right by that. It was a miracle that you arrived when you did, Jeeves. Having cracked through the frozen water, I could already hear them chiseling ye ol’ epitaph: ‘Bertram Wooster, he ought to have been in some home.’”

“Your boots make a distinctive track, sir. It was no great challenge to follow them and quickly surmise your fate.”

“You’re certainly earning your badges this holiday, Eagle Scout. Do they give one for hot toddy preparation?”

“I think not, sir.”

“Well, this cup right here is like a distinctly warming cousin of your usual pick-me-up. I can feel my pins for the first time since you dragged the ice-sculpture-formerly-known-as-Bertram-Wooster back to the lodge.”

“Shall I add another log to the fire, sir? Do you require another blanket?”

“I’ve got all the I need, Jeeves, you human furnace.”

“Just so, sir.”


	31. Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Alpine holiday, Bertie hears rumors of a flying ghost. No slash.
> 
> For DW drabble zone prompt: silver and picture prompt fun challenge 47 - Picture 94.
> 
> [](https://picturepromptfun-mod.dreamwidth.org/file/89432.jpg)

Reluctantly abandoning my cosy nook by the fire, I bid the colonel good night and toddled back to my room, certain as I had ever been that Bertram Wilberforce Wooster was decidedly not the sort of chappie to rouse himself from the dreamless at two in the ack emma in the quixotic—if that means what Jeeves says it means, viz. something that bloody well is never going to happen—hope of seeing a spectre float across the Alpine sky, even if the view from the balcony of his very accommodating accommodations is said to be the toppin’ point for eyeballing said apparition.

Blast this Silver Sugarplum Fairy! She could launch herself ‘cross the firmament at a civilized hour if she wanted the pleasure of Bertram’s gaze upon her.

Disappointed, I closed the French doors to the balcony and conjectured that it was probably an astronomical phenomenon, a pinch of silver sage in the onions of the night’s sky, that appeared once in a tortoise age.

Thank goodness I hadn’t mentioned it to Jeeves. Who knows what he would’ve…

But as I slipped between the sheets, my toes touched a very toasty hot water bottle.

Prescient, accommodating, bloody useful sod!

* * *

“Will you be keeping vigil tonight, sir?”

“No, dash it! What do they say about fooling someone once and then twice? Well, _four_ times is shame on the mare who bore you! I’ve lost enough of the dreamless on the fabled Silver Sugarplum Fairy.”

“In that case, sir, might I have the evening off?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, sir. I’d like to go to town and attend the final performance of _The Nutcracker_.”

“Didn’t you already see that?”

“A matinee, sir. It is not the same.”

“Don’t tell me that you’re tipping your size 10 bowler at a ballerina!”

“Perish the thought, sir.”

I caught the faintest twitch of his lips as he shimmered out.

* * *

“Sir!”

“Oh, Jeeves, shut it.”

“Sir! The balcony! The Fairy!”

“What?!”

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter while Jeeves tore open the proverbial shutters and threw up the sash.

“OH, MY SAINTED AUNTS!”

But it could not have been my sainted aunts who floated cross the firmament. She was a slim, delicate creature, a radiant beauty flying through the air, leaving behind a cascade of otherworldly luminescence.

And then she was gone.

I sighed.

“That was extraordinary, Jeeves!”

“Indeed, sir.”

* * *

“Oh, Jeeves, it may be taking a liberty, but I happened to eyeball you saying good bye to your ballerina.”

“Yes, sir. The ballet company is moving on to their next destination.”

“She seemed quite taken with you. And why shouldn't she be?”

“Her esteem might be related to the fifty pounds I gave her.”

“Fifty quid! Good Lord, Jeeves! Whatever for? A bet?”

“No, sir. Services rendered.”

“ _Oh, Jeeves_.”

“You misunderstand, sir. Dancing lessons.”

“You! Dancing!”

“Miss Katarina was also once a circus performer, sir. So, it was almost like, well, flying.”

“Like the Silver Sugarplum Fairy?”

“Precisely, sir.”


	32. Bertie's Bakin' Christmas Biscuits Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie's Bakin' Christmas Biscuits Song. 
> 
> For DW Drabble Zone challenge #117 - What are you doing & DW fffc Advent Calendar Day 2 (cookies). Last lines are slightly altered version of song lyrics by Kinky Friedman (1973).

What are you doing?  
I hear cupboards open, pans shiftin'.  
What are you doing?  
Eggs are crackin’. Flour’s siftin'.  
I hear mutterin' and mixin'.  
Just what is it that you’re fixin'?  
I hear the cooker squeakin’  
But wish it was this ol’ bed creakin’  
I hear your ol’ tea cup.  
And then the washing up.  
The aroma’s awful sweet,  
but nothing can compete  
with you.  
Forget about that bakin’.  
Your baby’s in here quakin’.  
Yank those biscuits from the oven ‘n’ shove your buns back in bed!  
Yank those biscuits from the oven ‘n’ shove your buns back in bed!


	33. Gaudy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves & Bertie squabble over waistcoats.
> 
> For the DW 100 words prompt #122: gaudy.

“Oh, very well but may I state for the record that I think your taste is a tad hidebound, Jeeves?”  
  
“You may state whatever you wish, sir, but if you leave the residence wearing this waistcoat rather than that one, my heart will beat on.”  
  
“But it’s the Drones’ Holly Jolly, Jeeves! This doesn’t say ‘holly’ or ‘jolly’ to me.”  
  
“But, if you’ll forgive me, it does say ‘I ought not to be in a home,’ sir. Enjoy your evening.”  
  
“Thank you. One last thing.”  
  
“Your hat, sir?”  
  
“Not exactly.”  
  
_Jingle-jingle-jingle!_  
  
“My Holly Jolly reindeer antlers! Toodle-pip!”  
  
“Oh, siiiir…”  
  
_THUNK!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get the smelling salts!


	34. First Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References is the programme of the first Christmas Eve Nine Lessons and Carols at King's College in 1918.
> 
> For the DW Drabble Zone challenge 118 - More.

And I heard the voice of the Jeeves in the cosiness of the afternoon, but I didn’t hide myself because it was my bally bedroom and my bally Jeeves and if I desire to putt a golf ball into a teacup and hum “Once in Royal David’s City” in the nude, well, a man’s castle is his Eden.

“Up, Good Christian Jeeves and Listen!” I warbled, switching song sheets as I answered the good and faithful’s summons. “And ding-dong, ding; ding-a-dong-a-ding! Polish the fig leaf! Bring me a Yuletide version of that special of yours.”

“Yes, sir. Your bath’s ready.”

* * *

“You know, Jeeves, life has many lessons to teach a cove like me,” I said as the seasonal pick-me-up trickled down the gullet and the corpus sank into to fragrant, steaming bathwaters.

“Indeed, sir?”

“Like never throw a grenade into one’s own Christmas Eve plans by agreeing to accompany an aged relative and her carbuncle of an offspring to an interminable church service!”

“Shan’t you derive pleasure from the music, sir?”

“Always looking for the silver lining of the waistcoat, Jeeves. That’s why there are bally Eves and beguiling serpents, but I harken only to thee and need not more.”

 

 


	35. Second Lesson.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie vs. Jeeves on Christmas. 
> 
> Reference to the order of service of the 1918 Nine Lessons and Carols at King's College and the carol sung then called 'Blessed be that Maid Marie.'
> 
> For the DW 100 words prompt: ghost.

“Sweet and blissful was the song / Chanted of the Angel throng, Jeeves.”

“So I understand, sir.”

Compromise is another of life’s lesson. When men of iron wills live in close quarters like Jeeves and self, clashes are inevitable.  
  
Take Christmas. I’m all for decking the halls while Jeeves is solidly in the ‘are there no workhouses?’ camp, viz. three ghosts and a pal in chains would never win him over.  
  
He allows some hidebound holly and ivy about the flat, but when I want to run with the deer and rise with the sun, I biff off to the Drones.  


	36. Third Lesson.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie reflects on a good cup of tea.
> 
> It is International Tea Day.
> 
> The third lesson of the 1918 order of service for the King's College Nine Carols and Lessons includes a song called "As Up in the Wood I Took My Way," which is parodied here and the reading is from Isaiah 9. Verses 2 and 6 are mangled by Bertie here.
> 
> For picture prompt fun Advent Calendar Day 15 [photo](https://picturepromptfun-mod.dreamwidth.org/file/104160.jpg) (glacial ice floe)

The third of life’s lessons that flitted across the cerebellum as I introduced the business touch to the soak and sang…

_As up the frame I took my sponge_

_the torso lean and bare_

_and all about the water smelt_

_the water smelt_

_the water smelt_

_and all about the water smelt_

_of pastry and éclair_

…was what a gift from the gods a good cup of tea is. I mean, for breaking the ice, it’s exceptional. I cast my mind back to when my pal Rocky Todd’s aunt showed up unexpectedly at my flat in New York; it proved an exceptionally sharp hatchet to the glacial floes in that fruity circ. And that’s just one of many examples. When facing an aunt, any aunt, tea is like an elephant in the platoon.

A good cup of tea also cheers but does not inebriate, so it’s toppin’ for when one wants to keep one’s smile as one’s umbrella while exercising the ol’ onion on a matter of grave importance, such as how one might be permitted by one’s hidebound Scrooge of a valet to leave the flat in a pair of debonair, holly-jolly, sugar-plum-coloured braces.

A good cup of tea is, _en fin_ , as our Gallic neighbours say, the heart’s only desire when first giving the new day the glad-eye—every morning save the one after Boat Race Night when a stronger restorative is usually called, that is, groaned for.

And Jeeves, of course, makes the best cup of tea there is. By a kind of Santa Claus telepathy—for he knows when I am sleeping and knows when I’m awake—he floats into my bedroom and sets it on the table beside my bed about two minutes after I’ve come to life. I take that first, refreshing sip and sigh. Not too hot, not too sweet, not too weak, not too strong, not too much milk, and not a drop spilled in the saucer.

“Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Permission to blaspheme?”

“Permission granted, sir.”

“The Wooster that bathes in water has felt a great need: he that soak in the tub of the well-drawn of Jeeves, upon him hath the want of tannins shined.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“And its name shall be called Wonder-Cup, Steeped-o-Joy, The mighty Brew, The everlasting Bohea, The Oo of Long. You understand me, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir, perfectly. I shall put the kettle— _oh_!”

“Jeeves?”

“Sir! Braces!”


	37. Fourth Lesson.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie reflects on first instincts. 
> 
> Continuation of previous 3 chapters. Bertie's still in the bath and the carol is 'While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks.'
> 
> For DW Drabblezone Challenge 119 - A Better Idea.

Now some chappies rely on instinct. ‘Think it. Do it.’ is their motto. All well and good for some, but the years have taught the pride of the Woosters the value of taking a moment to reflect on one’s gut notion to see if, perhaps, a better idea might not come along.

And thus, while Jeeveses scoured the Wooster raiment by afternoon for more sartorial crimes against his dear-ol-Uncle-Ebenezer-sense of style, I was massaging my left foot with a sponge and contemplating a Plan B for getting out of the flat with my sugar-plum braces firmly attached to my trousers.


	38. Fifth Lesson.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie's 'better idea' for getting out of the flat with his sugar-plum braces. 
> 
> References to the carol 'Unto Us is Born a Son.' No lesson here, I know, I shall try to pack 2 into the next lesson.
> 
> For the DW 100 words challenge #124 aloud/allowed. Also for DW picture prompt fun Advent Calendar Day 14: [a pretty wrapped gift](https://picturepromptfun-mod.dreamwidth.org/file/97596.jpg).

Aloud, I had just reached the part of ‘Unto Us is Born a Son’ when Herod ‘slew the little childer’ when it occurred to me, silently, of course, that if I presented Jeeves with his Christmas gift, a handsome volume of Spinoza wrapped in shiny red paper and tied with a bow as tartaned as the Scots allowed, a bit earlier than was our custom, viz. right then, then perhaps he would be so overjoyed that he would, as the song went:

_O and A, A and O,_

_Cum cantibas in choro_

_Let our merry sugar-plum-coloured braces go_

_Benedicamus Domino._


	39. Sixth Lesson.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie sings Jeeves' praises. 
> 
> For the DW drabblezone Amnesty 12 prompt: Christmas Eve.

I've learned, too, one should never wait on doing a good turn. If it's the heart’s desire, jump in with both feet before it passes you by like the night’s last Pony Express.

And so, without further adieu, I called:

“O Come Ye Good and Faithful!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Permission to blaspheme, Jeeves?”

“Permission granted, sir.”

I cleared my throat and announced to the tiles and the tub and the fragrant waters.

“In the beginning was the Meadows and the Meadows was with the Y.M.’s Socks and the Meadows was with the Mitten.”

I paused for an interjection, which was duly given.

“Alleluia, sir.”

“And the Jeeves was made flesh and sent by the agency to dwell among us and our socks and our shirt studs and our spats and our whangee (and we beheld his glory, the glory of the non-clomping shoes, the perfect cup of tea, the size-10 bowler, the fish-fed brain, and the Y.M.-sized, out-of-soup catapult employed so often and freely).”

“Amen, sir.”

Then I switched to song, which is my wont.

_“Yea, Jeeves we greet thee!_

_On this happy afternoon_

_Jeeves, to the glory given_

_Keeper of the Master_

_Now in flesh appearing!”_


	40. Seventh Lesson.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie recalls a lesson from his Uncle Henry.
> 
> Quote is from "Bertie Changes his Mind." Also for DW drabblezone Amnesty 12 prompt: wonder.

Now, there’s also the wisdom of one’s elders. I can never forget a lesson my Uncle Henry told me. He said,  
  
‘Never forget, my boy, that if you stand outside Romano’s in the Strand, you can see the clock on the wall of the Law Courts down in Fleet Street. Most people who don’t know don’t believe it’s possible, because there are a couple of churches in the middle of the road, and you would think they would be in the way. But you can, and it’s worth knowing. You can win a lot of money betting on it with fellows who haven’t found it out.’  
  
And, by Jove, he was perfectly right.  
  
And I’m quite certain that, on that glorious night, the shepherds who were abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night, were up to the same tricks with any green ewe wranglers that came by and then, of course, the glory of the Lord shone upon them and the gig was up. They had something more important to wonder about.  
  
_‘Childing of a maiden bright_  
_Life to-day hath brought to light_  
_a trick and punters betting right_  
_are naught but flock of fiends tonight.’_


	41. Eighth Lesson.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie receives a box of chocolates.
> 
> For the DW picture prompt fun Advent Calendar Day 23: [box of chocolates](https://picturepromptfun-mod.dreamwidth.org/file/104860.jpg).

Now forgetting the ewe guard, let’s take those other visitors to the manager, the three kings. They were following yonder star, or so the story goes, but they were also said, by some, to be wise. And just as this gentleman would never dream of saddling up my camel and loading ye ol’ caravan and setting out with a couple of pals of rank same, say, Bingo Little and Gussie Fink-Nottle, without having my gentleman’s gentleman in the side car, so I’m betting these wise men didn’t stir without have wise men’s wise men.

_“In Ducli Jublio_

_Let me my homage shew_

_My corpus reclineth_

_In rapidly cooling bath-io_

_Jeeves et es Oooo!_

_Jeeves et es Oooo!”_

My serenade was cut short by the doorbell.

“Excuse me, sir.”

“Jeeves? What is it?”

“A gift, sir.”

I made like a corkscrew, the better to properly eyeball the offering, a flat gold box.

“What do you suppose it is, Jeeves?”

“If my senses don’t fail me, sir, it smells and looks as like the Classic Chocolate Cabinet, a two-tiered assortment of the finest.”

“Goodness. Let’s have a look-see. Who’s it from?”

“Lord Yaxley, sir, with his compliments of the season.”

“Oh, Uncle George! Well, if it was from Aunt Agatha, we’d have to get a host of canaries to throw down the mine shaft to make certain there wasn’t arsenic or perhaps, if she’s reading her goosefleshers, a secret untraceable poison, like shame or something, injected to the bottom with a hypodermic. And it couldn’t be from my Aunt Dahlia because she’d only send something _after_ I escorted her and young Bonzo to the service tonight. Uncle George devotes himself to the pleasures of the table these days, so you can be certain he got one of those for himself. By Jove, Jeeves, that is quite the _In Dulcio Jublio_. What'll you have?”

“Sir?”

“Oh, come on. My chocolates are your chocolates. You first.”

“The treacle tart truffle, sir, if you’d be so kind.”

“Good choice. What would I like?”

“This, sir, is an Eton mess truffle.”

“Is it really? I think I rather start with this Jolly Penguin.”

I popped the Antarctic bird into my mouth and chewed and hummed.

Jeeves was doing the same with his t. t. t.

We inclined our onions at one another.

“There’s gold, frankincense, myrrh, Jeeves.”

“And then there’s chocolate, sir. I have to agree.”


	42. Ninth Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie finally gets out of the bath.
> 
> I tried to find what I was imagining for the sugar plum braces, but the closest I found was [this bow tie](https://www.etsy.com/listing/643428376/sugar-plum-bow?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=plum+bow&ref=sr_gallery-1-3&sca=1) (it's a light-medium purple sequins)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to wish all my gentle readers much peace and joy today and in 2019 and for those who observe it, a very Merry Christmas. Unless I get hit very hard with a muse cosh (or blackjack if you prefer the American term) this is the last Bertie ficlet of the year, so thanks to everyone who provided kindness and encouragement.

After Jeeves and I had partaken of a few, or perhaps a few more than few, of the top-shelf chocolates my Uncle George had sent ‘round, I was thinking that it was about time for me to, like Venus, rise from the sea of now rather chilly bathwater.

But then the phone rang.

Jeeves left to answer it, and then I heard his return.

Now most people would find not a single alarming word in that statement, but I knew that something was wrong, very wrong, because, you see, Jeeves floats, he shimmies, he feels absolutely nothing beneath his keel because he is always astral projecting himself and not using rubber-bearing weight on floorboards like the rest of us mortals to get from point A to point B.

So, when you can hear him, it means that he is agitated and if he is agitated, that means there is something wrong.

“Sir?”

“Yes.” I was already half out of the tub in anticipation of the bad news.

“That was Mrs. Travers. You are to go immediately to Bosher Street Police Station. Apparently Master Bonham and Master Thomas are in police custody and if an intervention is not made at once, they may remain there, that is, spend their Christmas as guests of Her Majesty.”

I sprang.

“Jeeves! Now’s the time!”

I didn’t have to finish the phrase. Jeeves knew what I meant.

It was time for all good men to come to the aide of the party. Good men meaning the preux chevalier Bertram Wilberforce Wooster and the party meaning the family or rather the rottenest tendrils of the tree.

Now you might say to yourself at this point, all right, Wooster, that’s the end, right? No more bath, no more carols, no more lessons.

Hindsight will turn its spectacles on the matter and show you to be wrong, so let me bend your ear for just a few minutes more.

Before I knew it, I was dressed from top hat to whangee and in a taxi that was made—or perhaps paid for—speed.

The paid part was, of course, all Jeeves’ doing. I’m not certain what quantity of notes he slipped the driver to make it snappy and I don’t rightly care because it was snappy and snappy was all in the aide of the best causes, that is, preventing my cousins, the blighters Bonzo and Thos, from spending Christmas in a cell. I mean, they are a pair of excrescences, but they’re Wooster excrescences, and no aunt wants their partridges in pear trees to be jail birds.

Between the bath and the taxi, I don’t remember anything. That, too, was Jeeves’ doing.

You wouldn’t think it to look at him, I mean, he’s built along the lines of the Albert Hall, but Jeeves can, when the circs require, also be a bit like a tornado, and I usually play the role of the barn or perhaps the farmhouse somewhere in the middle part of America caught up in its winds.

And, like the barn, I was spit out into the taxi, with no real memory of what had just occurred.

But I was clear-headed enough that when I got to the police station, I started to throw my weight about, which got me to the town of absolutely nowhere. Then I tried throwing money about, for I found that Jeeves had filled the y.m.’s wallet with ample of the ready for financial negotiations. But the officer in charge issues a firm nolle prosequi on that, too.

I laid my overcoat, whangee and hat on a chair of ill-repute and unbuttoned my suit jacket, preparing to go _mano-a-mano_ with the branch of law and order if necessary when the rozzer’s eyes lit up like the Christmas tree that Ebenezer Jeeves forbids.

“You’d do anything for the young’un?”

“Of course, I would. The Code of the Woosters…”

But the officer had a line of thought that did not include learning about the fighting ancestors.

“Give ‘em the shirt off your back?”

“Of course!” I bellowed. The exterior was loud and proud, but interior was a bit fuzzy. Monetary negotiations had gotten nowhere with this bastion of ethics, so why was he bringing up the gent’s chemise? But then my eyes followed his, and I gasped.

I was wearing the sugar-plum braces!

“The fellers are having a bit of a do-dah tonight, and those would be somethin’ special.”

The decision was the work of less than a moment.

“Yours,” I said. “In exchange for my cousins’ freedom.”

It was a deal.

Of course, I never ended up going to the service; by the time the young blighters were uncaged it was too late to do anything but send them back to their mothers’ knees.

So perhaps it was well that I sang all the carols in the bath.

Much later, when Jeeves and I were enjoying a hot toddy by the fire, I asked him about the braces.

“Life has taught me many lessons, sir. One is to think ahead. When Mrs. Travers mentioned the police station, I was immediately aware of the officer you would most likely encounter and some of his habits, and all I can say is that it is quite fortunate that the officer is required to wear a uniform most of the time.”

“And you knew he’d been keen on my braces.”

“I suspected that, yes. That was the ideal scenario and the one that, gratefully, transpired.”

“But what if it hadn’t been him?”

“If it had been the officer’s partner, then I was hoping that the braces would indicate to him a certain strain of madness and perhaps he would think that Master Bonham and Master Thomas suffered in similar conditions and therefore were not responsible for their actions.”

“You think of everything!”

“I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir. And life has taught me that a true victory is shared. You were able to secure your cousins’ release, which is both a boon to them as well as to you in the face of your aunts.”

“Most definitely! Aunt Dahlia squeezed me like a python and promised the moon! Not that I need a planet, really. The guest room’s not big enough. And I suppose your part of triumph is getting my sugar-plum braces banished from the wardrobe.”

“There is that, sir, but it wasn’t the only benefit to me.”

“Oh, no? What else?”

“I'm spending Christmas Eve with the person with whom I’d most like to spend it. I have no need to watch the service on television or listen to it on the radio. I’ve had the much superior version already.”

“Oh, Jeeves, you ol’ romantic. You did it just so that I wouldn’t go to the service? Just so I’d spend Christmas Eve at home with you?”

Jeeves inclined the lemon, and it might have been the fire, but I thought the skin ‘round his collar turned a shade or two pinker.

“Well, go on,” I said, nodding at the red box beneath the tree. “Knowing you, you’ve already deduced it.”

“Thank you, sir! Happy Christmas. Thank you for the carols.”

“Happy Christmas, Jeeves. Thank you for the lessons.”


	43. Edge / Sport.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves confesses his feelings. Bertie responds. Alternating POV.
> 
> First 200 words is for the DW 100 Fandoms Challenge prompt 002. Edge and the last 100 words is for the DW 100 words prompt #129 - sport.

I’d been on edge all day, as Mister Wooster was himself yet again on the verge of betrothal to a person of highly unsuitable character. I was facing, once more, the prospect of playing spectator while he entangled himself and playing savior when he realised what he had done and wanted out of his predicament.

Yes, I was on the edge of reason, and with three simple unguarded words, I felt the ground beneath my feet crumble.

Mister Wooster said I must think it a good match to which I replied,

“On the contrary.”

What followed was a veritable torrent of words, quite unsolicited, I might add, wherein I bandied a woman’s name, Mister Wooster’s name, my own name and went on to confess the depth and nature of sentiments quite unacceptable for a valet to maintain for his employer.

When I finished my speech and my descent was complete, I felt a broken man at the bottom of a ravine, awaiting vultures.

But Mister Wooster is no bird of prey.

He could have fired me. Or ruined me. He could have had me arrested, impoverished, or even confined to an asylum.

He did none of it.

He simply smiled.

* * *

“I’m a good sport, Jeeves.”

“Queensbury rules, sir,” said Jeeves looking like a chappie whose just got an invitation to sup with the Borgias.

“Queensbury was an ass! The Code of the Wooster is what matters!” I cried and thumped the table for good measure.

“And what does the Code say about this matter, sir?”

“A Wooster’s always true to his heart. And my heart is yours—along with all the other assorted bits and bobs.”

As anticipated, Jeeves went all stuffed frog for a while. I waited.

“I’m gratified to understand my sentiments are reciprocated, sir.”

“Score’s love all.”

 


	44. Clown. (Gen.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Clown  
> Rating: Gen  
> Length: 300  
> For the DW triple drabble 019 prompt: clown.

“Jeeves, if Aunt Agatha calls, please tell her I’m dead. Wait, no, tell her I’ve drowned like the lady of the green onions.”

I threw my head back and did my best imitation of said maiden, floating atop the bath-sluice, with my ankles sticking out over the edge, of course.

“Yes, sir, but green onions?”

“You know, the ‘four grey walls and four grey towers’ business. I don’t know what possessed me to agree to take Aunt Agatha’s horrid goddaughter Cecelia to the circus. The circus! Worse than when I took Thos to the Old Vic!”

“I believe there’s a relevant bit of wisdom, usually, but perhaps erroneously, attributed to Mister P. T. Barnum, he of circus promotion fame.”

I raised the corpus to sitting. “Sucker born every tick of the long hand, you mean.”

“Something to that effect, I believe, sir.”

I huffed. “Stuffing the cherub full of candy floss, toffee apple, and popcorn…”

“Yes,” agreed Jeeves, casting a rueful glance toward a divested suit with its wide variety of stains.

“…parading her before the lions and tigers—resisting the urge to give the King of Beasts a royal snack in the form of a ringlet-ed wee-shrew…”

“The feeling’s easily understandable. You were brave to resist it.”

“We Woosters can wear the mask, Jeeves.”

“Yes, sir, speaking of which…?”

“Well, they were down a clown, and I mean, the show had to go on, didn’t it?”

I handed him a flannel thoroughly besmirched with white, blue, red, and yellow. He took it with a barely disguised grimace.

I turned Ye Ol’ Countenance toward him. “Did I get it all, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I didn’t really have to _act_. I mean, I can drive a small car and save a terrier from a burning building, can’t I?”

“Just so, sir.”


	45. Where There's a Will. (Gen.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie stumbles upon a murder. Gen.
> 
> For the DW Drabble Zone prompt #142: Where There's a Will.

“Jeeves, if that blasted butler Precipice is going to lollygag about whacking the dress-for-dinner gong then noblesse oblige says I must take up ye ol’ baton and—”

“Sir!”

“By Jove, Jeeves, there’s the blighter’s! And half his onion’s diced!”

“Look carefully, sir, it is not Precipice.”

“Egad, Jeeves! It’s Sir Robert!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you know what they say.”

“Sir?”

“Where there’s a will—and an unctuous old patriarch determined to cut his nearest and dearest out of it—there might be a murder!”

“Yes, sir. I will ring for the police, but the dinner-gong mallet?”

“Oh, my sainted fingerprints!”


	46. End of the Road. (Gen.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: End of the Road  
> Rating: Gen  
> Pairing: Jeeves/Bertie  
> DW Drabble Zone Challenge: 146: End of the Road.  
> Summary: Bertie drives the two-seater into a barn with chickens.

The two-seater came to a halt as hay and not a few chickens rained down upon driver and passenger.

“We’ve reached the end of the road, Jeeves.”  
  
“If I may take a liberty, sir, it might be more precise to say the road left us some ten minutes ago,” replied Jeeves, carefully depositing the poultry outside the vehicle.  
  
“This map is useless,” said Bertie as he gave the offending guide a far-from-gruntled flick and looked over his shoulder. “And I’m not certain that the Charge of the Light Brigade works with equal robustness in reverse.”  
  
A loud, futile whir of tires startled the few feathered guests that had not yet received Jeeves’ attention.  
  
“It’s too bad, Jeeves. You took such care to stow all those corkin’ rations. Aunt Agatha will be disappointed if we don’t show up to the picnic.”  
  
“So will Miss Lilac.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Miss Lilac Woe-Be-Gone, the young lady she wishes to bring to your notice.”  
  
Their eyes met, and they exchanged significant glances.  
  
“It will take some effort to get the chariot back on the straight-and-narrow, Jeeves.”  
  
“Considerable effort, sir.”  
  
“Perhaps we should indulge in a few ham sandwiches before we begin.”  
  
The fowl clucked their approval.


	47. Poison. (Modern AU. Gen.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie tries to dissuade Bingo from his latest crush in the best way he knows how: 90's improv karaoke. Modern AU.
> 
> For the unfamiliar, this is [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sb2np1HGqxg) by Bel Biv Devoe.
> 
> For the DW 100 words comm prompt #151: poison.

“…but, Bertie, she’s perfect!”  
  
“How I can get it through your onion, Bingo? Oh! The wisdom of our elders: never trust a big butt and a smile.”  
  
“Bertie…no!”  
  
Bertie sidled to his electric keyboard and switched it on. “Oh, yes.”  
  
“But, Bertie, we were at school together!”  
  
“So you know just what caliber of magic’s in store,” He called towards the door. “You ready, Jeeves?”  
  
Jeeves manifested with the tea things. “I’m ready, Slick, are you?”  
  
DUM-DUH-DAH-DUM-DUH-DAH-DUMPA-DUMP-DUMP!  
  
“Girl, I must warn you!” crooned Bertie. “I sense something strange in your mind. Yeah your situation is serious.”  
  
“Serious,” echoed Jeeves.


	48. Love or Lust (Rating: Teen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Love or Lust  
> Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster  
> Length: 200  
> Rating: Teen for mild suggestiveness  
> Summary: Bertie gets pummeled for helping another valet.  
> For DW Drabble Zone prompt #148: Love or lust.

I hissed like the deaf adder as Jeeves applied some foulness to my battered mizzen.  
  
“Don’t drag me with ‘liberties taken,” Jeeves. How much did you hear?”  
  
“Enough, sir.” Jeeves was doing his Nightingale gig, Florence, that is, not poor Keats’ bird. “’That gentleman’s gentleman is worth a deuce more than the gentleman he gentlemans!’”  
  
I had to admit it was a fair-to-middlin’ imitation of the y. m.’s voice.  
  
“It was very good of you, sir. Lord Cavendish’s treatment of Simpson has always been cruel, but until tonight, circumstances prevented any alteration.”  
  
“Well, if this,” I waved a mitten at the tenderized steak that used to be my face, “is a small serving of the meal that poor sod’s been getting, I’m glad to provide the distraction. Simpson’s flown the coop?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
I giggled. “Cavy will have to press those ridiculous trousers of his himself!”  
  
“No servant will oblige him, sir, I’m certain.” Jeeves went a bit stuffed frog. “I cannot say which emotion is stronger, sir.”  
  
“Preux, old fruit. Thinking of giving me your token?”  
  
“Or asking for yours?”  
  
Jeeves gave the front of my trousers a bit of the ‘Here’s a Howdy doo.’  
  
“Both is good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
